Chapter 38
Renata
The following morning, I take a deep breath before pushing through the kitchen door.
I woke up more rested than I have ever been in my life, but that quickly dissolved when I turned over and saw the bed was empty. Not even Hexate was back from her morning hunt. They’ve been lasting longer since she started going with Whisper. I think most of our familiars go together.
The dread and anxiety quickly crept in.
Archer was gone before the sun rose, leaving the journals haphazardly scattered along the bed. Maybe he changed his mind. I couldn’t blame him—I just figured if one of us ran, it would be me. He’s always more steadfast than I could hope to be.
I stop in my tracks when I find not only Rowyn, already kneading a loaf of blueberry lemon bread, but Esme sitting on the counter with a fresh mug of coffee in her hands.
“What are you doing up?” I ask Esme as I drop onto the island stool.
“Couldn’t sleep,” she says with mischief in her eyes. “A disgruntled ghost was pacing around my room all night. Would you know anything about that?”
Nestor.
My brows scrunch. He hasn’t been around much, but I never imagined he would be following the other witches around while avoiding Archer and me.
It makes sense now—even if we aren’t the same people, he still has to watch his wife and best friend together.
“Nope,” I answer. “Nothing.”
She hums, but her eyes scream suspicion. “What are you doing up?”
“I’m always awake before you,” I refute and give Rowyn a grateful nod when she holds the kettle up in question.
“Not this early,” the sweet red-headed traitor finally chimes in.
“Late night?” Esme asks with faux sympathy. I glare at her.
How does she know these things? Even with her magic, it’s like she can read my mind when it comes to Archer.
“If it was, I would still be asleep,” I tell her. My flushed cheeks betray me.
She throws her head back, laughing. “Liar.”
Rowyn watches us before realization dawns on her. “You and Archer—oh!”
“Oh my Gods,” I mutter and drop my face in my hands. Not ready to see their reactions, I ask, “Can you make me the day after elixir?”
It comes out mumbled behind my hands, but they understand from the hoot of excitement that Esme lets out.
“You little slut,” she teases and grabs the hand towel to swat at me. Laughing, I rip it from her hold and flick it back in her direction. “Has anyone ever given you the safe sex talk?”
Rowyn agrees with Esme, making me scoff in offense.
“I will make the elixir for you—as well as the daily contraceptive tonic,” she adds with a sharp look. “But Esme is right.”
“I have safe sex all the time,” I say. When I catch Esme’s eye, we both laugh and the earlier dread fades away. “I do sound like a slut.”
“Pro-slut around here,” Esme says with a fist in the air. “Right, Rowyn?” She throws me a playful expression, not seeming surprised by Rowyn’s reaction.
She clears her throat and nods, avoiding our eyes. Esme arches a brow at me but I’m not sure what she’s thinking.
“So,” Esme says and turns back to me. “What does this mean?”
Rowyn looks up from the mortar of herbs she’s grinding together. “Good question.”
I swallow and look around, not wanting to be the person who accidentally tells Sybil what Archer has agreed to. When I turn back, they can see the sad resolve in my expression.
“He knows.”
It only takes a second for both of them to understand.
“What—how?” Rowyn asks, putting the pestle down and giving me her full attention.
Biting back a sigh, accepting I’m about to get another lecture, I admit, “A few nights ago, Nestor took me out behind the trees.” I point in the general direction of the back gardens.
“Petra had buried some of her journals there. A large box full of all the journals before the first one I found. It… It has everything. From the early days of dating Nestor, to her mother’s death, to the coven, to her affair with Barrett that ended when Nestor returned from wherever he went. ”
They stare at me before giving each other a long look. When their eyes find me again, I know they are going easy on me rather than giving me the scolding I deserve.
“What do you mean, ‘wherever he went’?” Esme asks. “Doesn’t it say?”
I shake my head and watch Rowyn start her task again. “No. It’s not as vague as her last journal, but there are so many details she kept to herself and to her coven.”
Rowyn slides two small glasses toward me, and one toward Esme.
“What about you?” Esme asks, shooting the tonic back like a shot of alcohol.
I pick up the day after elixir first, scrunching my nose at the bitter taste of Queen Anne’s lace seeds before finishing it in one gulp. It leaves a burn down my throat and I quickly grab the contraceptive, hoping the rue and pomegranate concoction will overpower the taste.
Quietly, I watch Rowyn and Esme.
Not accepting her silence, Esme says, “Maybe we should make this a daily ritual—all the witches! Except Clementine,” she adds with a shrug. “Clover would have an aneurysm.”
Laughing, I assess Rowyn as she shakes her head and says with a sigh, “Esme.”
“What?” She holds her hands up innocently. “You can even make the male contraceptive for Archer,” she adds with a wag of her eyebrows.
In an exasperated voice, Rowyn says, “I don’t need it. I’ve never had sex.”
We both grow silent and stare at Rowyn with our mouths open in shock. I don’t mean to, but it was the last thing I expected her to say. When my eyes quickly move to Esme, I notice that she’s also surprised. It doesn’t seem like it’s because of the admission, rather that Rowyn actually said it.
Esme knew what she was doing all along.
“How?” I ask.
Rowyn gives me a look like, don’t be an idiot.
“Okay, not how,” I amend. “But… why?”
“Are you waiting for true love’s kiss?” Esme teases, but it’s playful. The earlier goading tone is gone.
Rowyn rolls her eyes and pours herself a serving of the contraceptive anyway. “No,” she says and quickly drinks it. “I’ve kissed a boy. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Then why? Did something happen?” I ask.
That makes Rowyn laugh. “No, nothing has happened. Ever.” She waves an arm out like that is enough explanation. “I grew up in Briarhollow, so I didn’t exactly have my pick of men like you two. The one boyfriend I had is now mated to my sister—so thank the Gods I never crossed that line with him.”
Once again, Esme and I are both speechless. Rowyn hardly ever talks about her sister. I had a lot of theories of what could have happened—having three of my own to compare it to—but to be mated to your sister’s ex-boyfriend… Wow.
After a moment, I mutter, “No kidding.”
I don’t remember the name of the first person I had sex with—some random man in New York City when I was twenty. It’s not a bad memory. Just mediocre.
Especially after last night.
In a low, vicious tone I’ve never heard from her, Esme asks, “What the hell happened?”
Rowyn rolls her eyes, trying to hide her hurt.
“We all know it was out of their control,” she reminds Esme.
“He’s a year and a half older than me, and Ember is two years older than him.
On his eighteenth birthday, something changed.
As soon as he saw her, he knew. She knew, I knew. Hell, the whole town knew.”
“Is that why you don’t get along?” I ask. “When it started between you two?”
She shakes her head and slides her forearms on the counter, looking at us.
“We’ve never been close. We’re so different, so there wasn’t ever an understanding between us.
Then when my magic started to manifest, things got competitive.
Not that our parents encouraged anything of that nature. It just happened.”
She tilts her head, a sad expression gracing her soft features.
“Ember’s magic is stronger than mine is,” Rowyn says and I fight an eyeroll. I’m still not convinced. “But mine comes more naturally than hers. Things only got worse the older we got.”
“Then she mated your ex-boyfriend,” Esme unhelpfully adds. I close my eyes and shake my head at her.
“Technically, he mated her,” Rowyn says.
There’s hurt and confusion in her tone. Under all of that, there’s anger. Righteously so. I can see the small fires in her eyes while we talk about it.
Knowing Rowyn, she doesn’t let herself feel it—or at least she doesn’t linger on it. She doesn’t even sound bitter about it. Not for the first time, I realize Rowyn is a much better person than I will ever be.
“We can still hex him.”
The words come from the Love Witch, making me whip my head in her direction.
“Oh, can we?” I snap at her.
Some hexes, like a day of bad luck or chickenpox, can be performed by any type of witch. A variety of reversal elixirs are kept with the school nurses because of how easy they are for young, untrained witches to accidentally perform.
However, something tells me those are not the hexes Esme has in mind. Probably something stronger, harder to get rid of.
Like recurring night terrors and physical pain.
Pointing my finger at her, I add, “Don’t think I have forgotten your little comment about astral projection and seances.”
She smiles and shrugs. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
“What is that?” Clementine’s voice carries through the room as she, Clover, and Sybil walk into the kitchen together. She points at the empty glasses and stands next to the counter.
“Nothing for you,” Rowyn says and fills two more glasses for Sybil and Clover. “But one of each for you two—it’s a new morning ritual.”
“Why can’t I participate?” Clementine whines in that way only a teenage girl can pull off.
“Because,” Clover says before quickly shooting her serving back, “you better not be having sex for a long, long time.”
Clementine grimaces and reaches for the tea kettle instead. “Yeah, I’ll pass on that.”
Sybil doesn’t grab the glass, crossing her arms and looking around. I notice she avoids my eye contact before asking no one in particular, “Do I want to know what caused this new morning routine?”
I look away, and catch Clover’s arched eyebrow as I turn toward the window.
Laughing, Esme sounds thrilled to answer, “No, you don’t.”
“Ew,” Sybil groans and drags a hand down her face. Looking at me, she shrugs. “I want him to be happy—you too.”
I offer her a forced smile, hoping it’s more convincing than it feels.
“What about the theor—”
Before Clementine can finish the question, Rowyn cuts in and pushes the glass toward Sybil. “Your turn.”
She pushes it a few inches away. “I don’t need that.”
Esme hops off the counter and grabs a bowl of fruit out of the fridge. “You a virgin too?”
Sybil looks at her confused and shakes her head. “I’m lucky enough to not be attracted to men.”
We all laugh—and agree—as Rowyn grabs the glass and dumps it down the sink, along with the leftover tonic. It doesn’t hold well, so one of us will have to make it daily or go down to the apothecary for a fresh batch.
“Great, now that we all know way too much about each other,” I tease, making all of them laugh, “can we focus on something—anything—else? Like how we have been taking down wallpaper for a week and have only finished two bedrooms?”
Together, we let out a defeated sigh in unison. None of us are excited to spend another day fighting with the old, brittle sheets that rip every few inches. It’s a frustrating, tedious task but one I am committed to finishing.
There’s still a lot to finish but if we could fully restore even one room, I think it would be the encouragement we all need.